Chapter 23

Dana walked in the front door a little after 8, dancing Al and Zenobia in front of her. “I’m home,” she called out.

“Dana,” Thea called from the living room. As much command as greeting. Dana backed up and looked in. Her parents were in their easy chairs, Dad with a magazine, her stepmother with a murder mystery. Thea beckoned her in. “About tomorrow morning.”

If Dana hadn’t been in a balloon-upon-the-ceiling mood, she would have been deflated by that tone of voice. As it was, she entered the room warily. “What about it?”

“Your friend, Sandy Fischer, will be coming to church with us.” Thea nodded to a seat, and Dana sat. “After services, the youth group will be discussing homosexuality with Rev. Lucas.”

Dana blinked. She knew an implicit command when she heard one—she was not to skip this time. Then she blinked again. How had Sandy—or Thea?—gotten that on the table? And why not at Sandy’s church? No matter, Dana was so there, whether out, half-out, or in. It wasn’t a Gay-Straight Alliance chapter, but it was a definite start for Riverton. She nodded to Thea, unsure of what to say.

Her father cleared his throat, which gave Dana a chill. “Which brings us to another subject. Your stepmother and I are worried about you—about your social life, the past couple weeks. The way you’ve started going out with so many girls, publicly—dating so much.” He raised his hand. “You know we support you—and we always have. You are who you are, and we love you no matter what. But I know from my brother what coming out in a rural town means. We’re worried about your getting hurt.”

As for getting hurt, it was too late for that. But how to explain about the status (and protection) of the cheerleaders? “Riverton is different,” Dana began slowly, only to have him say, “Exactly.”

Which wrecked any attempt to explain it to him. Sometimes adults were so dense. “And in any case, I won’t be dating around so much. I’m, uh, going steady. With someone. As of today.”

“Not that boy?” Dad peered at her.

Who, Josh? Dana shook her head firmly.

“He’s nice enough, but I don’t want to see you pretending a heterosexuality you don’t have, just to fit in—it’d do neither of you any favors.”

That required a hour’s answer, or none. Instead, she said, “Uh, no. Nikki.”

Her parents looked at each other, Thea somewhat smug. “You win,” he said to her, then to Dana, “and quite handily, judging by your goofy expression.”

Dana tried to go poker-face. Not very well, judging by his smile.

“Yes, that one,” he said.

“Any-way,” Dana said.

“No doubt I’m about to be chided for teasing you right now.”

“Yes, “ Dana said promptly. “Any moment now, I’m going to roll my eyes and say ‘DAAAD!’”

“Perish the thought,” Thea said as he snorted and waved Dana off. “We have enough of that in this house.”

Upstairs, Dana put Al and Zenobia on the shelf next to her signed championship basketball—souvenirs of a good day to survive. Then she pulled out all her materials on gays and religion—except what Sandy still had, of course. She wanted everything fresh in her mind for tomorrow.

She looked up at the sad dogs. If they represented Dana and Nikki as a couple, Al really ought to be Allie. She shook her head and dug in.

Dana woke to a gust of raindrops rattling her window and a sense of foreboding. She puzzled sleep-mazed over what dream fragments she could recall: forgetting to bring her duck, then forgetting a test. It was as if she was being reminded of something she’d—

Liz.

Dana screwed her eyes shut and cussed silently. After talking with her parents, she completely dropped the ball. After she’d given her word, too. Again. She sat up and looked out the window. And with the weather shirty, she couldn’t work off her growing panic with her morning run.

She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to center herself for a free throw. Deep breaths, calm breaths. When she was calm, she thought carefully.

Why hadn’t she remembered? If she’d really wanted to, she wouldn’t have forgotten, no matter what. Nikki was definitely something she didn’t want second thoughts about. But ... it seemed she was. But was it anything aside not being willing to break her pledge to the squad?

She breathed slowly in the storm.

What had she said? That she’d do anything. That love is all that matters. Which checked everything, if she really loved Nikki.

Did she?

Without thought, from deep inside her, came a still, small voice: YES. Oh, yes. Love without name or reservation. It didn’t matter if Nikki was gay, bi, straight, or pickled ham—what mattered was her.

And with that, she knew what to do.

Wrapped in peaceful joy—there was no other word for it—Dana lingered over showering, and dressing, and breakfast. So it was nearly time to leave for church when she called Liz—almost too late. But Liz answered after the fourth ring.

“Hey—it’s Dana. Listen, about tonight. Something’s come up.”

“I think I can guess.” Liz sounded amused, almost teasing—she knew about Nikki. Which made it more straightforward, if not easier.

“Exactly,” Dana said simply. The simple truth gave her strength, here.

“You’re serious,” Liz said, sounding slightly incredulous. As if she’d been expecting a denial.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” The doorbell rang—Sandy, probably. As Thea answered it, Dana said, “Listen, I have to go.”

When Dana reached the front hall, Sandy was dripping on the floor while Thea fetched the others. “This ought to be interesting,” Sandy said, putting down Dana’s borrowed book and a leather-bound Bible, to wipe off her foggy glasses. “I don’t know how your stepmother talked my father into letting me go to ‘those Methodists,’ even just once, but she’s good.”

Dana grinned wryly. “We’re hoping she finds a full-time job to take up her energies. Would you like to borrow an umbrella?”

Sandy looked down at her puddle. “Probably not a bad idea,” she said drily.

Clara arrived at the foot of the stairs and glowered suspiciously at Dana, as if this was all her fault. If “this” meant having to stay after the service, it probably was, in a sense. But Dana didn’t care—she was going to church with a clean conscience.

Dana spent the afternoon on her computer, writing her essay—the continuing rain making yardwork impossible. It was was the struggle Dana expected. Though really, she may have spent more time texting with Nikki than actually writing. Nikki offered to help, after some cheerleading thing she had. When Nikki had to drop off for that, Dana did spend more time actually writing, but every sentence was a reminder Nikki wasn’t there. Dana eked out a draft by mid-afternoon and emailed it to Nikki.

With a sigh, Dana pushed away from her desk—just as her phone rang. It was Sam.

“What’s this about you breaking your date with Liz?”

Dana stifled a grimace, and reminded herself of her purpose. “What about it?”

“You said you’d go out with anyone on the squad.”

“I said anyone on the squad who wanted to go out with a girl, would be able to. I didn’t say it’d be with me, always.”

“Then who?” Sam sounded incredulous.

“I don’t know yet,” Dana admitted. She watched her computer’s screen saver come on.

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’ll have to do for now.”

“Do want to end up like Jinn Conners, and—and Rose?”

Fumbling for a name, Dana noted, took some of the sting out of a vague threat. “What about them?”

“You’ve had it easy, with cheerleaders telling others you’re ours. Do you want to risk life without our protection? It can be pretty nasty.”

Dana was getting too damn tired of people telling her that. Somehow she managed to keep her voice level. “I’m a big girl. And it’s not like I’m not still going out with a cheerleader.”

“If you think you can get away with this,” Sam said.

If Dana had been talking to Nikki, she would have said something about If it weren’t for those meddling kids—and The Dog. But she wasn’t. “You’ll have a girl to date, Sam, okay? My word on it.”

Sam hung up.

Dana glared at her phone a moment. Fine.

She went down to the kitchen to grab another snack. Clara sat at the table, sorting through piles of photos for the yearbook. Dana glanced over Clara’s shoulder, then shook her head. Her sister certainly had gotten around in the short time since moving—it looked like she had photos of everyone in the school, somewhere in there.

Which meant she’d probably met them all. Certainly, she seemed to know all the latest gossip.

“Clara.”

“Mm?”

“You know Rose Robins?”

Clara didn’t even glance at her, still preoccupied. “She’s in two of my classes.”

“What do you know about her?”

That caught her attention. “Not much,” Clara said, looking at Dana warily. “She’s a freshman, she sits on the east side of the cafeteria.” Where the unfashionable small groups of friends sat. Like Dana’s, except that as mixed upperclassmen, they’d moved towards the center of the room. “Why?” Then, “Oh, no.”

“She’s going to need a lot of help now,” Dana said.

“I said, No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know her well and, as you can see, I’m busy.”

“So?”

Clara spoke quickly. “No means No, Dana. I’m a Partlow, too—I’m just as stubborn as you are. And you can’t beat me up because we’re too old for that. No.”

Dana let the silence stretch several seconds. Just as Clara started fidgeting and was about to speak, Dana said, “I’ll owe you one.”

“You already do,” Clara shot back.

“I’ll owe you another. Look, it’s important.”

“If it’s so damned important, what are you doing about it?”

“Jinn Conners.”

That stopped Clara. “You—aren’t the sort of girl she’d give the time of day to.”

Dana shrugged, uncomfortably aware of that truth.

Clara put her face in her palm. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk with her—offer her support, all that. Just—go someplace else. I’m busy.”

“Thanks, Clair.”

Her sister grunted. On her way out of the kitchen, Dana patted her shoulder.

Dana checked her phone and email—no response from Nikki yet. She ought to trying editing her essay herself, but she was feeling cooped up. Besides, the storm-clouds were breaking up, at least for the moment. She took a basketball outside to the driveway hoop.